Black and White Stripes
by annaisadinosaur
Summary: Sometimes when things were going wrong, Alice liked to imagine the future. Sometimes she imagined it with Frank. And sometimes she didn't. There was a moment there, lurking between the lines, where things began to go wrong. Perhaps she'd seen it and pretended she didn't. Perhaps after that first day she'd known Regulus Black would be the end all along.


The light was a supernova in her eyes. She stared into it, the world distant and warped in sound, as if she was underwater. Perhaps she was, and that was why she was sinking, only that she hadn't noticed till now. Her hands were almost not hers in the way that they lingered above her face, catching the pulses of the water with her fingers, like she was a child playing a game in the pool. She felt ill, watching as the light blurred together into the same singular color, and it wasn't until it all died out that she could remember why.

"Alice?"

She thought, before the faces in front of her came back into focus, that this must have been what it felt like to be at the end of your life. What it must have been like to know that every breath was just a number slowly treading backwards to zero.

The world slid into view in seamless transition, and Frank was looking at her. This didn't faze her as it ought to have, because she often found Frank looking at her like this, with a limp question hanging in the air between them. But this time the air was heavier, and it took her a few more moments to realize they were _all_ waiting for her answer, everyone around the table with their eyes wide like stars about to burst.

And then it all came back to her. It hurt, the rush of it, the pressure rising in her chest, the wave knocking her down. Like tearing through the surface of the water and remembering why she'd wanted to drown. Her answer did not require any thought. She knew what it was.

"No."

The room was silent, which she hadn't expected. Her answer seemed to echo in their eyes as it passed along from person to person, shoulder to shoulder, crippling the composure of so many expressions.

She felt ill.

"What do you mean?" said someone at last, someone she had the decency to hope wasn't Frank, but of course was.

"I mean," she said, "that I've been over the case five times, and I still don't think any of you have done a good job of convincing me that this man is so guilty the only redemption conceivable or even practical is murder."

Someone else sighed. Muttered something. Wasn't Frank. "_Really_?" the person wanted to know, ideally from her, she supposed. She looked up at him and felt more grounded as she met his eyes, like she'd held on through to the eye of the hurricane.

"Really, what, Morris? I was asked my opinion, and that's what it is."

"You know this needs a unanimous agreement," he said heatedly, a sort of heat that spread all throughout his abnormally large face. He was a big man, that Morris, with even bigger opinions. And fat hands, she realized as he pointed a finger in her face. "_You're_ trying to sabotage the case just because you can."

"I'm not trying to cause problems. There just isn't any evidence. Yes, he's a Death Eater, and yes, people died. Are these two connected? Possibly. But do you understand that? Possibly, Morris, not definitely or yes, _possibly_. Meaning that we do not know. Meaning that he could have killed someone—he could have killed all of them!—but we don't know, and it is downright _irresponsible_ to convict someone without knowing for certain."

"He's hidden his wand," said Morris quickly, as if she might try to cut him off, "and that says something, doesn't it? That's all the proof we need, a simple _Prior Incanto_ and the case is solved. So he's hiding something big, real big."

"Yes," Alice said, "but we still don't know. And I'm not agreeing until we do."

"You think he's guilty, then? You know it and just won't say it?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. I'm not speculating it," said Alice.

"I'd say we should give her a shot at it. Let Fortescue have a talk with him herself."

It was Mad-Eye that'd spoken, a little farther off in the group, arms over his chest, blue eye sparkling like a gem. She looked at him, and he back at her, and she understood quite implicitly that he trusted her and didn't grant this onto many people at all.

"Yes," she said. "I'd like to."

. . .

"Hello." She wandered in cautiously, face flushing with the gust of hot air that enveloped her. "I'm Alice Fortescue; we haven't met properly yet."

He looked up in a peculiar manner, as if he'd come out of a statue-like state, and she swore she could hear his tired bones creak. There were dark hollows beneath his eyes with hair that hung even darker about his face, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered that he was just eighteen.

"Hello," he repeated, looking away again, seeming to return to stone. "Set a date then, have you?"

Alice held her breath, pulled out the chair, and exhaled all the air in her lungs when she sat down in front of him. "That's not how it works, I'm afraid."

"Then how does it work?" She didn't answer straight away, and saw that he was waiting for it with his eyebrows raised.

"I…" Her eyes went from the file to him and then back to the file. "I just have a few questions."

He shrugged his shoulders. "All right."

She read that he was eighteen. She thought of asking him this, perhaps, just to make sure it was really true, because she couldn't see it anywhere in his face. Maybe that's what murder did to you, made you old. Broken. But was he even a murderer? She couldn't tell. How many murderers had she even met? Hardly enough to start accusing eighteen year old boys, anyway.

"I need to ask you about your wand," she started again, closing the file in her lap. "Where is it?"

"Why is it always the wand that people ask me about?" He was flippant, almost amused. "I'm more than just my wand, I'll have you know."

"Your entire case is revolving around it."

"And?"

"And you'll be put to death if I can't prove that you're innocent."

He paused. "I hope you don't think you're delivering headline news. I'm well aware of the circumstances."

"And that's something I don't quite understand. If you're sticking to this story that you're innocent, why don't you prove it?"

Regulus Black opened his mouth and then suddenly closed it with a snap. "I change my mind."

"About which part?"

"I'm not innocent."

"You're—wait, what? Hold on, no…"

"I'm guilty."

"You are _not_… why are… what are you playing at here?"

"That's the story I'm sticking to," he said. "And that's it. Send me to the guillotine."

Alice fidgeted, and stood up, about to walk away, then turned back midstep. "First off, the guillotine is a _medieval_ form of execution, and secondly, I don't know _why_ you're signing off on your own death sentence, but don't think this is the end of anything. You've either got to prove that you're innocent or prove that you're guilty."

She could hear him shouting, "But I just admitted to it!" as she slammed the door behind her.

. . .

"I really don't see why you're so upset about it."

"Morris is mocking me now, isn't he?" Alice thread her hands through her hair, pulling at it from the roots, like going bald might be the answer for all of the world's problems. "He's going to put a picture of me up on the wall and make it the office game to throw darts at it, ten points for every head shot."

Frank snickered, and she shot him a look. "What? Oh, he wouldn't. It was just…"

She waved a hand. "It's not that that matters. I'm more concerned over the fact that Black just entirely switched sides, which is going to make it impossible to prolong this trial any longer."

"What does it matter, though?" asked Frank, moving closer to her, as if he was trying to console her. "We know that he's a Death Eater, you said that yourself. He's got the Mark. Being a Death Eater is punishable by Wizarding Law. People are panicking. Terrified. Broken. And they've got to make an example…"

"But that's just it. The whole thing is sick. They're going to sacrifice one boy in the name of the greater good?"

"And if he is guilty?" ventured Frank. "What then?"

"You can't go making guesses like that. It's unethical."

"But, say, after all of this is over, they found undeniable proof that he was guilty. What then? What would you think of it?"

Alice stared at him for a long while. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know," she repeated, hollowly. "Wouldn't it feel wrong to you? We're mourning the deaths of our families and our friends, yet we turn around and do the same to them. And then, to make it even worse, we throw in the Ministry, and make it a law. Approved. We crown it as the right and proper thing to do."

"It's not the same. They initiated it without reason. We have a reason. Defense."

"Vengeance, you mean. And who says they don't have a reason? I'm sure they've got a solid reason. Whether or not it's justified just depends on how you look at it." She noticed the twitch in his expression and added quickly, "I'm not saying that I understand or sympathize with them. I'm saying that I don't approve of the idea of joining the enemy in order to beat him."

He looked at her, almost wistfully, and sighed her name. "You're going to get yourself in trouble, you know. Talking like that."

. . .

It was seven twenty-three in the morning when they announced that Regulus Arcturus Black was to be put to death. It had followed her all the way to work that day, on the radio and the papers and in every conversation she waded through on the elevator. She was sinking again. Not drowning, not yet, just falling in endless suspension, watching as her hair drifted around her like it had no idea where she was falling to.

With a _ding_, she'd hit her floor, and by the time the doors had closed behind her she was already launching into motion. She'd scaled the entire length of the floor in a shorter span of time than she ever could have remembered, and was rapping her knuckles almost bloody against Moody's door in a way she wouldn't have dared to think of a year ago.

When the door opened, Mad-Eye was cursing, and stopped momentarily when he realized it was Alice. And then he started again. "Bloody mothering hell, Fortescue, have you ever heard of practicing manners to get what you want?"

"I want to know why," she said, and she almost felt like crying, with the sea knocking her down and down and down, "why you're letting this happen. I know it's under your jurisdiction. You're the one that suggested and approved it. You let it pass through the Auror Department. _Why_?"

"I'd like you to take a deep breath and think about what you're saying, Fortescue. The Wizarding World is at war and you're ready to cause another one for the sake of a single man," he said, as if he'd rehearsed it just for her arrival. "Think about it, really long and hard, and then ask me why."

He closed the door in her face and a gust of wind followed, knocking the hair from her shoulders and the air from her lung. She stood a long while, just staring at the door with her eyes wide and stinging with tears, when a voice prodded her from the back.

It was the secretary, with her soft blonde hair in tight little curls and a sad smile on her face. "Just think of it this way, Alice," she said. "Can you imagine telling Morris that we'll never find the person who murdered his wife?"

"No," Alice said. "I can't."

And she thought, for a fraction of a moment, that maybe she ought not to care, like everyone else.

. . .

The execution was next Sunday. She understood that the Ministry was probably scarce in the Christian department, but she found it a little scathing nonetheless, and _she_ wasn't even religious herself.

The cell was cold. Fitting that they didn't heat Azkaban in the winter, she supposed, but then again, perhaps it was just always like this. The Dementors had gone, for now, but she still felt their lingering presence in her bones as she shrunk away, things she didn't like thinking about creeping up her skin.

Regulus was lying down, staring at the ceiling with glazed over eyes. He hardly had moved his head an inch when she entered. "What're you doing here?"

"I can't say," Alice said. "Not yet. Get up; we've got to go."

"I was under the impression that I wasn't dying for another week."

"You're correct." She glanced at him. "Sort of. Come on."

They exited the cell, and it only took a few flashes of her Auror badge to get through and out of the building. "He's being taken in for further questioning," was her only response, and yet it was enough. On this particular morning there were no humans to log her arrival, and she preferred it that way. No one would know she'd ever been here, and as far as the Dementors would know, she had every approval she needed on the Ministry's part.

She didn't, of course, but the Dementors certainly weren't going to come after her for that.

"It's creepily quiet in here," Regulus commented, and gave her a look that implored for explanation.

Alice felt a strange look on her face, her stomach twisting in tight knots.

"What are you smiling about?"

Ah. That's what it was. A smile. So she answered, "Merry Christmas."

"What?"

She gripped his arm, dipped her head and said, "Hold on," and within a moment they were spinning out of control. It was a feeling much different than swimming or even flying; it was like being pulled apart at every end until the sky blacked out and she was someplace else. And she was, she saw when she opened her eyes again.

He steadied himself on the ground, looking wildly about. "What do you mean, 'Merry Christmas'?"

"It's Christmas Day."

"Oh." He paused. "Where are we?"

"The countryside."

"Why? Do I get a holiday from Azkaban?"

"Sort of." She took a moment to straighten out her jacket and noticed he was lacking one. "Let's get inside before you get frostbite. Oh, and by the way," she said as they began to head in the direction of a house-like building, "I've just broken you out of prison, so don't tell anyone."

"You've—?" He looked incredulous. "Now why'd you do that?"

"Was just feeling in the mood."

"A breaking-convicts-out-of-Azkaban mood?"

"Yeah."

They approached the house, which in itself fit in very well to the nothingness of the landscape. That was partly due to the day-old snow nestled into the ground, granted, but there was something about it that resembled a blank canvas, and Alice was particularly fond of it. Miles and miles and miles of country, untouched and glowing under the sky.

"What is this?" Regulus asked as they walked up the clean steps and to the door. It opened without key or spell and she fell into it without looking back. He followed.

"It's your new home," she said, and stopped, looking back at him. She didn't necessarily smile, for she wasn't too proud of what she was doing, more nervous than anything, but she looked happy enough.

Regulus, suffice it to say, was perplexed out of his skull. "What?"

"It's been unoccupied for fifteen years. There was an old couple that lived here, two Muggles, but they've both died. The house was technically in their son's name, but he never did anything with it, not after ten years. All of their things were still in place, the clothes in the drawer, wilted flowers on the dining room table, pictures in their frames on the walls. Fancy the son didn't want it, so I thought I'd put some use into it." She folded her arms. "Set the place on fire last week."

If this alarmed him whatsoever, he didn't say so.

"Of course, it was only for show, but to any muggles that see the place, it was burnt into the ground. I went and delivered the nice things to the son, just in case he wanted them, but left enough so that it still looked like a house, with the furniture and all that. They all think it's just a bunch of rubble, but it's not."

"Really, Fortescue, is it? I don't know _what_ you're going on about."

"Oh, right," she said. "You're not dying."

"No?"

"No. You've only escaped from Azkaban, that's all. You see, no one works in Azkaban on Christmas Day. It's the only day of the year that the guards get off, and they leave all the work to the Dementors. And the Dementors only let in Ministry officials."

"Won't they know it's you that's let me out?"

"Not necessarily. They'll expect it, probably, but I've confunded several people into believing I'm currently with them at a Christmas party getting sloshed out of my mind, so I'll have enough witnesses. And there are others in the Ministry that don't agree with your sentence. Not many, but enough."

His eyes were gentle, somber. "I wanted to die, you know."

"I know," she said. "And why did you? Why would you sentence yourself to that?"

"There are worse things than death, Alice."

She shivered, almost. "And how would you know that? You haven't died."

"You haven't seen what I've seen."

She turned away, arms folded over her center. "I'm your Secret Keeper. No one will ever find you. I'll come and check up on you, every once in a while, for food and things. And then in a few months I'd say you're free to live out your life in the muggle world, free of any wizardly pressures or threats."

He laughed, hollowly. "And if I don't want to live as a muggle?"

"Better than dying."

"Yes," he agreed, to her surprise. "That is." He looked at her. "Why are you doing this? You don't know me. I haven't proved my innocence to you."

"Doesn't matter."

He bit his lips together, contemplating, and took her hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it. His eyes lingered briefly on her fingers, on the bright red nails, and he smiled. "Oh, I've figured it out."

"Hm?"

"You fancy me," he said, and winked.

She coughed suddenly—violently, loudly—and pulled back her hand. "What?"

"You're flirting." He gestured to her hand. "Flirty hands. Aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're…"

But he was laughing so loudly she didn't need to say the rest. And she liked that look on his face.

. . .

She thought that after a month of paranoia, she'd finally be able to stop worrying about stupid Regulus Black. And now _this_. Really? After everything? She'd gone to bring over breakfast (she _wasn't_ flirting) that morning before work, but the house had been empty. No sign of a struggle or anything. Nothing seemed to have gone wrong. The door was just left open and the wind knocking it back and forth like an omen.

She risked being late to work for him, and now she _was_ late. Served her right, she supposed. In her haste to get into the office, she zoomed past Frank so fast she didn't have time to see him, let alone hear him call her name. But he persisted and trailed after her, catching her by the wrist. She spun on him, eyes wild, nearly gasping for breath, "_What_, Frank?"

"Alice," he said, and he was neither forceful nor annoyed, "you need to see this."

She never knew exactly why it was that Frank showed it to her that morning, only that he knew that she would want to know.

The paper he handed her read: **REGULUS BLACK, ESCAPED AZKABAN CONVICT, DEAD**

And the worst part was that she never understood why.


End file.
